


Till Death (Or Denial) Do Us Part

by TeddyLaCroix (ReadyPlayerZero)



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fake Marriage, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Get Together, M/M, Slow Build, Yes it's really both, but they get there, kinda sorta, technically it's a real marriage but originally for nonromantic purposes, will span like 10-15 years of their lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-04 17:51:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4147185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReadyPlayerZero/pseuds/TeddyLaCroix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Daredevil Kink Meme prompt <a href="http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/1742.html?thread=4129230#cmt4129230">here</a>.</p>
<p>At 18, best friends Matt and Foggy come up with a foolproof plan for going through college together, being assigned roommates, scoring better tax returns, and starting a law firm together: get married, of course! It doesn't have to mean anything... right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'll give you a ring all right

**Author's Note:**

> I officially have way too many fics going on at one time, oh my lord. NONE OF THEM ARE ABANDONED I'm just an idiot. :D
> 
> I am obviously fudging with the timeline of same sex marriage in New York versus when Matt and Foggy would be in school, since the prompt really wouldn’t work otherwise. ;) Bless fandom timeline hand-waving. Also, the original Tumblr post that inspired this prompt doesn't 100% fly since Columbia is a private university so I believe the in-state/out-of-state tuition difference is a non-issue, but correct me if I'm wrong and I'm happy to revise.

It started out as a joke.

Matt and Foggy had been friends since they were sixteen, meeting online on a forum for students interested in going into law. They’d partnered in a mock-debate, started chatting via Skype, and never really stopped. Still, when they first began talking about going to the same college, being roommates, and opening a firm together, it was a joke.

When they both admitted (one particularly stressed out night in the middle of AP exams) that neither was entirely straight, their hypothetical future situation added a layer of gay married lawyers, and that was very much most _definitely_ a joke. They didn’t even live in the same state, after all. Matt was a child of Hell’s Kitchen through and through, and while Foggy was born and raised there as well, he’d gone through high school just outside of Boston.

Then they got their acceptance letters from Columbia, and the jokes suddenly became a very possible reality.

Even then, they didn’t think on it too much. They were preoccupied with cross-examining their different options and factoring in tuition, scholarships, and grants. It was only when Matt decided on Columbia but Foggy picked a lesser school that the topic came up again.

“It’s out of state, Matt. I can’t ask my parents to pay that, and I don’t qualify for hardly any scholarships.”

“It’s a _private university_. There’s no tuition difference based on residency!”

“Yeah, but the cost of living going there versus staying local is _brutal_ , man. They’re not offering me as much aid, either...”

“Not based on financial need, maybe, but you can apply for essay scholarships independently. I’ll help!”

“Dude, I’m not competing for scholarships against _you_!”

“So we compile our resources and split them up, fifty/fifty. That’s what future partners do, right?”

“... Uh, Matt...”

“Future _law_ partners. Or, well, maybe the other kind, too.” There was laughter in Matt’s voice, but it trailed off after a moment. “Actually...”

“Oh, god. Do I want to know?”

“You were planning to work in college, right? Married couples—”

“MATT.”

“—get tax breaks for filing jointly, and we’d be ensured the same room.”

“Oh my god, Matt, we’re not getting married for—you really think it’d work?”

“Why not?”

“Okay, but what if we meet people we actually want to date?”

“So we say it’s an open relationship. Although honestly, if we’re working and going through the law program, I doubt either of us will have that much time for dating anyway.”

“That was seriously the least romantic proposal ever.”

“I can get down on one knee in front of the laptop, if you want?”

“Jesus Christ, Murdock!”

“Language, Fog.”

The admonition lacked heat; by this point, it was a running joke more than anything else, and they both snorted with laughter.

The chuckles died down to thoughtful silence. After a few moments, Foggy asked, “You gonna buy me a nice ring?”

“I’ll buy you a whole _box_ of rings, Nelson. Best in New York.”

**

Two months before the start of the term, Foggy took the bus into Manhattan and met up with Matt. It was their first time meeting in person.

Stepping off the bus, he recognized his best friend instantly. A year and a half of Skype chats meant he had his appearance down pat, and there was definitely no mistaking somebody that good-looking for anyone else, even without the cane and familiar black sunglasses.

Especially when Matt’s reaction to Foggy calling out his name and drawing close was to grin, drop down on one knee, and offer up a large, white box. Curious, Foggy opened it up—

—and was immediately hit with the fragrant scent of a still-hot stack of Tabla’s spiced onion rings.

Foggy cracked up.

Like the giant dork he was, Matt grinned shamelessly. “I promised, didn’t I?”

“Best in the state,” Foggy agreed, shutting the box and singing an arm around Matt’s shoulders as the brunette stood. “You’re so damn lucky that was me and not some other acquaintance, buddy.”

“I’d know your voice anywhere,” Matt replied in a strangely soft tone. “It’s great to meet you in person.”

Foggy couldn’t respond for a few seconds. Once he managed to work past the sudden emotion lodged in his throat, he cleared it and nodded. “I just nodded,” he said. “You, too. Ready for our big day?”

Matt smiled. “Yeah. Let’s go get married.”

As they grabbed Foggy’s bags and headed off to the motel Matt was already checked into, Foggy stuck his hand in his coat to make sure his two most important packages were there. One was indeed a ring (god bless relatives who gave money as a graduation present), titanium for its hypo-allergenic properties and not bound to be a surprise; they’d talked about ring sizes ages ago, back when this was all just a fantasy.

The other, and significantly more important, package was a case that held a year’s worth of birthday and Christmas and wedding presents all in one: a pair of round, blood-red sunglasses.


	2. Nelson-Murdock and Nelson-Murdock

After months of stories from concerned friends and family members of friendships torn apart by trying to be roommates, Foggy and Matt found that sharing space was anticlimactically easy. This wasn’t a big surprise to Foggy; he was generally fairly easygoing.

After preparing themselves for the struggle of pretending to be married to someone they’d almost exclusively interacted over an internet connection, they found _that_ anticlimactically easy, too. This... this was more of a surprise to Foggy. He wasn’t sure if he was more relieved or indignant that people apparently found their relationship so readily believable.

Then again, with they way they gravitated toward each other, lacked personal space boundaries, walked around arm-in-arm (even if that was for Matt’s benefit), and finished each other’s sentences, he occasionally forgot that they weren’t really together, either.

All in all, the start of his academic career and adult life was... okay, not eventless. There was nothing eventless about getting married, moving out of state, and entering university at an Ivy League institution. But he’d been talking with Matt almost every day for nearly two years, so making the transition with somebody so familiar at his side made it seem not so scary.

So it was a bit of a shock when, in the middle of finals week of their first semester, Matt came storming furiously into their room.

**

At the door bursting open, Foggy jumped in surprise and slammed his knees into the underside of the desk. Swiveling around in alarm, he watched as his best friend slammed the door shut behind himself, threw his textbooks onto his bed, and dropped (eerily accurately, actually) into his desk chair with his arms crossed.

Foggy knew Matt could be intense sometimes. He’d known _that_ since their first mock-debate, and honestly, he believed passion was a good thing to have. Even so, Matt was normally the more level-headed of the two of them, and Foggy’d never seen him act so aggressively before. “Whoa. Wow. What’s up, Matty?”

Matt stewed for a few more moments, mouth occasionally twitching the way it did when he was trying to put his words in the right order. Well-accustomed to this tic, Foggy resettled himself in his chair to face him more comfortably and wait.

“I don’t understand why attractive people think appearance is so important, especially to a guy who can’t _see_ ,” Matt finally spat out a few minutes later.

Foggy furrowed his brow as he tried to make sense of why that would upset Matt so badly. Not that shallowness wasn’t upsetting, of course, but it seemed like a bit of an overreaction for a very general, historically persistent problem. “Okay... well... sorry to break it to you, buddy, but a _lot_ of studies have shown that good looks can take people places,” he began cautiously. “We’re sort of hardwired to appreciate symmetry and youthful health and—”

“Not to the exclusion of _values_ ,” Matt interrupted firmly. “People make all of these completely stupid assumptions about each other based on who’s sexy or plain or ugly or skinny or overweight or fit, and none of it is _relevant_ to being a good person.”

Standing, Foggy headed over to perch on Matt’s bed. “Okay... not that I don’t agree with you, because I totally do, and it’s a great subject to have strong feelings about, but I assume something specific happened make you so pissed off?” When Matt continued brooding, Foggy sighed and tapped his chair leg with one foot. “Come on, Nelson-Murdock, talk to me.”

Changing or combining their surnames was something they’d discussed at length before visiting city hall. On the one hand, it looked more convincing if anyone tried to contest the validity of the marriage, and given that they were two male eighteen year olds, there was certainly plenty of contesting. On the other hand, it seemed like a waste of time and money to bother with, considering they were just going to get divorced after graduating at the latest.

Plus, there was the teeny-tiny, trivial, absolutely _minor_ fact that Foggy’s parents still didn’t know he was married.

They’d ultimately decided to keep their own surnames legally, but use a hyphenated Nelson-Murdock socially. That way, it still looked convincing to 99% of the population, but there would be no potentially confusing paperwork later. When they were alone, they mostly used the hyphenated surname to tease each other or break one of them out of a bad mood.

It was damn near impossible to stay angry when they remembered the ridiculous situation they’d gotten themselves into.

It worked like a charm. Letting out a controlled breath, Matt let his shoulders relax. “Not one incident, really,” he admitted. “It’s been... building up. I think today was just the breaking point.” Taking off his glasses (still the red ones Foggy’d given him; he only kept the black pair as backups now), he rolled his head in Foggy’s general direction. “I’m just sick of all of these spoiled brats flirting with me all the time.”

Foggy’s eyebrows slowly rose. “You’re... complaining about people _flirting_ with you? Dude, if I had that problem—”

“It’s not the flirting,” Matt cut him off again, aggravated. “Harmless flirting doesn’t bother me. It’s the ones who _know_ we’re married, but think they’re sexy, I’m sexy, so obviously I should just... that I’d be up for messing around behind your back. I hate that they _expect_ it.”

“Okay. First?” Foggy began in a warning tone before smirking. “First, I’m going to give you shit _forever_ for calling yourself sexy.”

“Foggy...” Matt growled half-heartedly.

“No, seriously! We’re going to be wheeling around in a nursing home, trying to jam our canes into each other’s spokes, and I’ll point an arthritis-mangled finger at you and go, ‘Hey, remember that time in freshman year—?”

“Foggy,” Matt sighed, but he was smiling this time.

Foggy grinned and leaned back on his arms. “For _ever_ , man. But second... you don’t like that they think you’re the unfaithful type? So what?” Matt turned around to face him with a frown, but Foggy waved him off before dropping his arm back down. “I waved you off. No, listen. They’re just a bunch of eighteen, nineteen year olds just starting fancy educations. With looks and money and probably connections, of course they’re going to think the world of themselves. It’s not a reflection on your integrity so much as their own overinflated egos.“

Sighing, Matt turned away again. “That’s not it.”

“Of course it is,” Foggy persisted, rolling his eyes. “And seriously, we talked about that open relationship thing, right? If you want to go get laid—”

“That’s _not. It_ ,” Matt repeated more forcefully.

Foggy threw his arms up before falling back onto the bed. “All right, then what _is_ it? You let everything else roll off your back. Why is this one bugging you so much?”

“I don’t like what they say about _you_ , all right?” Matt snapped. “I hate that they make fun of you at all, much less to my face, just because you’re not, what? A jock? A model? Three steps removed from Kevin Bacon? Who cares? You’re the best person I’ve ever known, you’re the best _friend_ I’ve ever had, and it’s _bull_ shit that they think some shallow comparison of our physical appearances warrants placing higher or lower value on either of us as people!”

Foggy blinked up at the ceiling. Propping himself up on his elbows as Matt huffed angrily, he grinned. “Seriously? You got this worked up defending my _honor_? Awww, A++ husband right there!”

Groaning, Matt rubbed his face. “Foggy—”

“ _Dude_ , it’s really not a big deal,” Foggy assured. Sitting up, he reached over to give Matt’s shoulder a squeeze. “So what if they can’t see all of the awesomeness that’s me? That just means it’s on reserve for the cool people who know what counts. Team Avocado, right, buddy? C’mon, man. Bones.”

Smiling weakly, Matt met his waiting hand with a fistbump. The angle was off, as usual, but they were still working on training their body memories to get it right. “I don’t understand how it doesn’t upset you.”

Foggy shrugged. “I don’t know, it used to upset me a lot more when I was younger. Around the time I realized most of the kids who made fun of me were going to crash and burn and I was going to go to college and do something with my life, it just stopped mattering, you know? Like, would it be rad to look like you? Of course.” He raised his voice when Matt frowned and opened his mouth, not giving him a chance to protest. “But does it really matter, and should I let it get me down? No way. I like who I am. Besides, I get shit about you, too.”

Matt tilted his head, looking for all the world like a curious bird.

Foggy grinned. “Seriously, and it’s a lot less PC than what you hear about me. I wanted to punch John Roberts in 18th Century Lit for asking how you were supposed to examine evidence ‘without eyes,’ but I thought I’d break my hand on his thick skull.”

Matt snorted. “Do you even know how to punch?”

“Not a clue,” Foggy confirmed cheerfully. “I plan to take out my future opponents with the strong arm of the law instead of a strong fist. Or just, you know, wipe the floor with their sorry asses in class for now. Or in Roberts’ case, wax poetic about the verified existence of your lovely hazel eyes until he goes green and shuts the fuck up.”

Completely derailed by that, Matt blinked. “I have hazel eyes?”

Foggy blinked back. “What, you don’t remember that?”

“I don’t think I had a concept of hazel when I was nine,” Matt admitted. “I thought they were just brown.”

“A, no, definitely hazel. B, brown eyes are not a ‘just’. And C, your eyes, whatever colour they might be, are also not a ‘just’. They are very unfairly nice, like the rest of you. You seriously lucked out in the gene pool, my friend,” Foggy grumbled.

Matt ducked his head, smiling bashfully. “Ah. Well... thanks.”

“And hey, I married you, so I guess I’m lucky, too,” Foggy declared. “Or at the least, maybe some of that luck will rub off on me, yeah?”

Turning his head away, Matt swallowed. “You don’t need it,” he said after a moment, voice sounding tight. “I may not know what you look like, but I can still tell you’re a beautiful person, inside and out. I _am_ lucky... but it’s because I’ve got you.”

Foggy’s heart spiked. Thrown for a loop by the unexpectedly sentimental declaration, he opened and shut his mouth a few times before swallowing roughly. It took a few tries to steady his words. “Wow. Uh, I totally confer upon you a summa cum laude in sweet-talking right there.” Matt’s ears went red, and Foggy chuckled helplessly before punching him lightly on the arm. “Hey, thanks, man. I mean it. It goes both ways. And screw those idiots who think either of us aren’t good enough for the other. Nelson-Murdock and Nelson-Murdock are an unbeatable duo. We’ll show ‘em.”

And they would. They really, really would.


	3. I've got you to make me feel stronger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone know what Foggy’s middle name is? I’ve seen it with initial P in Marvel guides and W in comics, but no definitive full name...
> 
>  **Trigger warning** for a brief panic attack.

Matt and Foggy managed to keep the marriage a secret from the Nelsons until summer.

They’d planned to not mention it at all, of course. They’d intended to relocate to Hell’s Kitchen in the summers until classes resumed, and everything would have been fine. They’d get a small flat, work some jobs, save up some spare cash, and start off each successive school year comfortable.

Unfortunately, a surprise visit from Foggy’s parents disrupted their plans.

Foggy was just turning the corner to the corridor for his room when he heard them. Freezing just before he could step out into their potential line of sight, he quickly backpedaled at the unexpected voices and flattened against a wall, eyes wide.

“—meet you. Do you know when Franklin might be back?”

“If he’s not expecting you? Oh, I don’t know. They stay out pretty late sometimes, especially now that exams are over.”

“‘They’? Oh—you must mean Matt.”

“Well, yes, of course. They’re pretty inseparable.”

Foggy silently swore under his breath as his floor’s RA, Masha, chatted up the Nelsons.

“I’m so glad things worked out for them,” Anna Nelson sighed, relief evident in her tone. “His father and I were so worried that living together would hurt their relationship. Foggy was _so_ attached...”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that,” Masha laughed. “I’m pretty sure half the building is desperately jealous of them.”

“Oh?”

“Well, yeah. I mean—”

 _Shit_.

Foggy took a deep breath before ducking around the side. His parents’ backs were luckily to him, and he waved frantically in an effort to catch Masha’s eye before making a mouth-zipping gesture.

Focused on Edward and Anna Nelson and apparently lacking peripheral vision, Masha utterly failed to notice him. “—Not to be rude, but most of us thought they’d split up before the year was out. How many people these days marry this young and actually stick with it even a year?”

Foggy froze.

Edward looked down at Anna, then leaned toward Masha. “I’m sorry... what?”

Of course, that was when Masha noticed who was standing in the corridor, arms still stuck in the air with a look of horror on his face. “Oh, hey, Foggy! Where’s your other half?”

Slowly lowering his arms as his parents turned to face him, Foggy laughed nervously as his face heated up. “Uh. Hi. Dad. Mom. _Masha_ ,” he added in a hiss before snapping back to his dad’s thunderous look with an anxiously bright smile. “What brings you out to Morningside Heights?”

“Foggy, please tell me I did not hear what I think did,” Anna pleaded.

“So, funny story—”

“ _Franklin Patrick Nelson_!” Edward all but roared. “Did you and Matthew _elope_?”

Foggy backed away frantically before straightening, knowing fleeing would not help right now. “Um. May... uh. Maybe... a little?”

“You eloped a _little_?” Anna wailed at the time Edward demanded, “ _Maybe_? Did you or did you not legally bind yourself to a boy you’d only known through the internet?”

“When did this happen?” Anna asked with, _shit again_ , tears welling up in her eyes. “Was it recent? Before or after Christmas? It couldn’t have been when you were—oh, lord. That’s why you went to Manhattan last summer, wasn’t it?”

Foggy flinched. “Mom—”

“Don’t you start, Franklin,” Edward interrupted angrily. “What were you _thinking_? You’re _children_!”

“No, we’re _not_!” Foggy finally got out, although the shaking in his voice weakened his intended vehemence. He could argue in front of a room of near strangers without a bit of performance anxiety, but few people were impervious to their own truly furious parents. “That—that’s sort of the whole point here, dad. We’re not kids. And, and I know it seems rushed, but Matt’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and—”

“‘Ever’? You’re only _nineteen_! And he’s from the _internet_!” Edward repeated. “You had _no_ idea who he really was. He could have been a psychopath, for god’s sake! The world’s a dangerous place, and who knows what these city boys get up to?”

“Edward,” Anna begged, tugging on his arm. “Edward, please, lower your voice. Let’s go discuss this in private.”

“And give my reckless, lying son time to come up with more—”

“Edward, they’ve been talking for years!”

“Are you actually defending them?”

“No, of course not, but it’s _Matthew_! You met him last Christmas, you _liked_ him!”

“That was before I knew our boy ran off with him behind our backs! It’s positively disreputable—”

As they argued over his feeble attempts to interject, Foggy could feel himself growing lightheaded. He tried to pay attention to them—this was important, and _they_ were important—but he just couldn’t... his dad was so... and doors were open, and so many people were watching, so many faces, and who even _were_ all these people, and god, it was so loud—

His breathing shallowed, coming out in short, nervous bursts. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out how to draw a lungful.

His stomach cramped and his hands were sweating and his cheeks were tingling with a deep, mortified flush, but he was only dimly aware of these; more distracting was the uncomfortable pressure building in his chest, building and building. It was just behind his breastbone, building until it pushed against his sternum, building until he was choking on it, and god, Matt, _Matt_ , where was Matt—

**

“Shhh, hey, calm down. Calm down, Fog, I’m right here. Breathe with me, okay?”

“Matty,” Foggy wheezed, grasping for him. His hands caught on fabric—a shirt, a jacket, a laundry bag for all he cared—and he grabbed onto it, drew it in. The fabric yielded readily, and Foggy clung to it for dear life, pressing his face to it, trembling into it, sweating into it.

As his shivers subsided and sound began to filter back in, Foggy became slowly cognizant of the fact that he was lying down. Someone was crying, but he couldn’t care about that quite yet. His face—his everything, actually—was smushed against something solid and warm, and someone was rubbing his back.

It took another minute to process that the solid warmth was Matt, cradling him protectively: Matt, whose shirt was now really gross, and the fastidious boy had to be _dying_ ; Matt, whose brow was furrowed in a look of concentrated concern and whose shoulders were tight but whose hands were steady; Matt, who was talking to him and he was still only catching syllables.

“ _Fog—...—kay...—st breathe—...—here—..._ ”

When he could hear over the sound of his own heartbeat and his tears had subsided enough for him to see, Foggy drew back tiredly. “Where...?” he rasped, looking around.

Their room. Okay, that was good. He knew their room. He liked their room. It had pillows and beds and beer, Matt and memories and moms and—

_Shit again again!_

Foggy scrambled up.

Well, he _tried_ to scramble up. All he really succeeded in doing was tangling himself up in Matt’s limbs and the blanket that was draped over him, disoriented and groggy. Even so, he didn’t let go of Matt, and Matt didn’t let go of him. “Mom?”

Seated on Matt’s neatly made bed—so neat it looked almost unused, and _oh god_ the things she probably thought about _that_ —Anna watched him with a tear-crusted look of exhausted guilt. “I sent your father to get us some hot chocolate,” she told him, her ordinarily clear voice laden with emotion. “I was afraid your... Matt would punch him otherwise.”

Shivering, Foggy sank back into his best friend/roommate/husband. “I’m—I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“You—” Anna stood, hesitated, and looked at Matt, almost as though she were asking permission. Foggy couldn’t see the look on his face, but he felt the wary nod Matt gave just before his mother approached and knelt on the floor. “Darling, I’m so sorry we reacted so badly. It was—it was just a shock. You understand why we worried, don’t you?” she asked hesitantly, reaching out to touch his arm hopefully. “We adore Matt and just want you to be happy, but—you’re both so _young_ , and marriage is such a _commitment_. We’d hate to see anything happen to your friendship if this went badly.”

“It won’t,” Matt answered firmly before Foggy could, before Foggy even gathered enough thoughts together to form a coherent sentence without crying. “We’re sorry that you had to find out this way, and we knew you would be angry, but it was worth the risk. It’s _been_ worth the risk, every second of it.”

Foggy would have hugged him if Matt weren’t already doing so too tightly for him to free his arms. Not that he was complaining.

“I,” Foggy began, voice hoarse. “I know it’s hard to hear, mom. I’m sorry we didn’t... that we kept it a secret. But it _works_ for us, I swear it does. I’m happy like this; I really am.”

Anna gave him a pained look before lowering her head and rubbing at her temples. “I know, darling. It was clear how much you cared about each other when you brought Matt home for Christmas, and you’ve found yourself a very protective... partner.” Foggy winced at her inability to say ‘husband’, but decided she deserved some slack; the last... however long he’d been out of it had to have been stressful for her. “Let me talk to your father alone first. It may be best if you came home for a while, let him see—”

“Mom, we can’t,” Foggy protested. “We had plans, we’ve got an apartment in—”

“I meant _alone_ ,” Anna cut him off tiredly.

“No,” Foggy and Matt replied in unison.

“I’m not leaving him behind by himself—”

“He’s not going up against his father without me—”

“I don’t mean forever, just a week or two—”

“I have a job interview in two days!”

“He’d feel at a disadvantage there.”

“A weekend, then.”

“Only if Matt comes with!”

“We’re sticking together.”

“They nearly got into a _fistfight_ —

“Matt would win.”

“I would win.”

“That’s not the _point_.”

In the calamity of too many voices, none of them but Matt noticed the door open. Edward hovered there, a tray of four steaming cups in his hands, watching his son with a drawn look. As the three voices fell silent one by one, the older man sighed. “Stop looking at me like I’m a villain,” he grumbled as he entered and proceeded with passing out the cups of hot chocolate: dark raspberry for his wife, white for himself, mint milk for Foggy, and vanilla milk for Matt.

(“At your ten,” Foggy whispered to Matt, who reached up and accepted his waiting cup with a curt nod of thanks.)

Tossing the empty tray into the nearest rubbish bin, Edward moved to sit on Matt’s bed, paused as he clearly overthought it, hovered over Anna’s shoulder, and finally crouched down beside her.

For a while, everyone was quiet as they sipped at their drinks. Foggy could feel Matt growing gradually tense as he clearly waited for another explosion, but when he saw the white-knuckled way he gripped his cup to keep his hand from shaking, he reached down to absently stroke his thumb against the back of Matt’s hand.

Matt sucked in a sharp breath, then let it out slowly and relaxed his grip. He gently pressed his temple against Foggy’s in—apology? thanks? acknowledgement?—before lowering his cup. Then, because he was actually the bravest guy Foggy knew, he broke the silence. “As Anna’s already spoken with us, Edward, would you like to go first?”

Sighing heavily, Edward rubbed his face. “Not really,” he muttered under his breath. Straightening anyway, he cleared his throat. “Foggy, I want you to understand that we’re not angry with you, and this is not a reflection on your choice in partners. Marriage is a serious commitment to make, and you made it at a difficult, confusing time with someone you didn’t really know—let me finish,” he added quickly when Foggy opened his mouth to protest. “I know you boys spent many hours chatting online, but you’d never met in person, and there are so many dangers these days with people not being who they say they are. Obviously, you lucked out this time. We’re just concerned for your safety.”

Closing his mouth, he settled back.

Matt tilted his head in Foggy’s direction in a silent question. Foggy tightened his hand briefly in confirmation and turned back to his parents. “I know it was a risk, and I’m sorry we scared you. But it’s not... we didn’t meet in some weird chatroom or anything. We met on a forum for teenagers interested in studying _law_ —not exactly the kind of setting that creeps would check out to pick up a date. And we’ve been having videochats and had each other’s phone numbers, so it’s not like he was hiding what he looked like or how to reach him or anything. You’d both talked with him, too. We weren’t exactly sneaking around.”

“We thought you were _friends_ ,” Anna reminded. “Not telling us the nature of your relationship is still a lie by omission.”

“It, uh—we really were just friends for most of it,” Foggy admitted. _Until we were suddenly engaged, anyway. Did that count as engaged?_ “The rest was... a little sudden, maybe, yeah.”

“I’d like to propose that we were basically married anyway,” Matt added. “My friends knew more about Foggy than me. All we were missing was the geographic proximity.”

“The proximity, and the history, and the part where your family members are made aware,” Edward drawled. “Foggy, we didn’t even know you were gay.”

“Bi, actually. Or maybe pan. Or—you know, not the point. Anyway, none of that stuff defines a marriage,” Foggy argued. “I mean, how is this in any way worse than an arranged marriage where the couple doesn’t even meet before the wedding and one of them is fourteen? Or all of the adults who get drunk-hitched in Vegas and laugh about it? Or a late-life marriage because two people are lonely and desperate just to not die alone? Not that any of those are inherently wrong, but they’re socially acceptable. At least ours has a basis in friendship, and look, a year later, it’s still working.”

“Relationships take many forms outside of meeting, dating for two years, moving in together, being engaged for a year, and then tying the knot,” Matt added. “We’d already known each other longer than a lot of older people who rush into marriage for whatever reason, and specifically because this is a ‘difficult, confusing time’, we probably communicate better, too.”

“This also provided us with a support structure that most people our age lack,” Foggy added. “You heard Masha—most of the other students are jealous of us.”

“We’re stronger for starting adulthood together, not weaker or hindered,” Matt continued.

“And we’re obviously safe and happy,” Foggy reminded.

“We’re very well-matched. We were just self-aware enough to pick up on it quickly,” Matt reasoned.

“Neither of us are the sort to jump into anything recklessly, right?” Foggy pointed out.

“I honestly don’t know what I would have done without Foggy looking out for me and keeping me from falling into manholes,” Matt added, mouth quirking slightly.

Grinning despite the way his chest still ached with worry, Foggy nudged him. “And I’d be sleeping in squalor without Matt being such a neatfreak.”

“So we’re clearly good for each other’s health,” Matt agreed as they smiled at each other.

“All right, all right!” Edward cut in with a pained look, holding his hands up in surrender. “We’re not done talking about this, but I concede for now. I don’t know what I was doing, arguing with two future lawyers. The way you just tag-teamed us was very...”

“Married,” Anna supplied.

Edward grimaced, then sighed. “Yes. Very married.”

“Huh. Fancy that,” Matt drawled.

**

The Nelsons left soon after an early dinner and promises from the boys to come visit so they could break the news to Foggy’s sister, Candace. Edward headed out first to call the lift, and Anna followed after.

At the doorway, she paused and turned back to the boys. “I want you to know one last thing,” she told them seriously.

Matt tensed again, and Foggy reached out to grab his hand and give it a squeeze.

Looking from one to the other until she was sure she had both of their attentions, Anna nodded in satisfaction. “Do _not_ make the mistake of thinking this gets you out of a wedding ceremony. We’re setting a date, and we’re throwing a party.”

Face heating, Foggy groaned and smothered his face against Matt’s arm. “ _Mom_!” he protested. “And _Matt_ ,” he added as he heard and felt his partner poorly smothering snickers.

Laughing, Anna waved and left.

They watched her go. Or rather, Foggy watched her go as Matt faced her general direction and listened to her quieting footsteps. When she turned the corner, they shut the door, turned to each other, and both dropped to the floor.

“Oh my _god_ , that was as stressful as Sutherland’s Judicial Processes exam,” Foggy whimpered, head against his knees.

“It was not,” Matt snorted. “... The Constitutional Criminal Procedure one, maybe.”

“It was totally Sutherland-level! You say that because they’re not your parents!”

“Well, they sort of are now,” Matt mused. “Would Anna want me to call her mom?”

Foggy elbowed him sharply. “We are going to break her _heart_ ,” he complained. “She’s already got a soft spot for your kicked puppy look. You’re totally going to get her in the divorce.”

Matt tensed, the action so small and smoothed over so quickly that Foggy would have missed it had they not still been essentially plastered together. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, though. Come to think of it, Matt still had an arm around him, and that was kind of weird, too. They’d always been a little tactile, ever since Foggy got in the habit of leading him around, but they’d definitely played it up for his parents—

Huh. Actually, he hadn’t been consciously aware of doing that. He’d been upset and terrified, and having Matt hugging him and soothing him had just felt so normal.

Since Matt hadn’t drawn away, Foggy decided not to mention it and simply take advantage of the comfort offered. “At least that won’t be for a few years, although I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse.”

“Better,” Matt replied quickly. “Definitely better. This way, there’s more time to make it really believable, and we can start planning for the split and acting toward it gradually. If we broke up too quickly, they’d just throw it in your face.”

“That’s true, but— _argh_. A _wedding_? What are we going to do?” Foggy said miserably, dropping his face again.

“Is it so bad?” Matt asked quietly. Foggy blinked at him as he continued. “I’ve never been to a wedding, and I’m sure it’s a cumbersome process, but it sounded like your mom just wanted to throw a little party.”

“A Nelson party is not a ‘little’ party,” Foggy corrected. “Having everyone I’ve ever known over, congratulating us on this farce of a marriage, standing in front of God and everyone and exchanging _vows_? You know they’re going to expect us to kiss, right? It’s a little more intense—” Not to mention expensive. “—than we signed up for. And we’re going to have to regurgitate all of that BS earlier to everyone all over again, I’m sure.”

Matt kept his blank gaze on the floor as he toyed with his ring absently, spinning it around his finger. “It wasn’t BS.”

“Huh?”

“It wasn’t BS,” Matt repeated. “Nothing we said except for the implications of romantic involvement were in any way false. We _are_ good together, even if we're not together in that way. Right?"

Hating the way his voice went small at the end, Foggy reached over to grab Matt’s legs and pull them over his lap. Matt made a small, surprised noise, but he let himself be manhandled. “Right,” Foggy asserted firmly. “And you know what, you’re totally right. It wasn’t BS at all. Not any of the parts that mattered.”

Matt kept face lowered, but Foggy could see his smile. “Still worth it, then?”

“Still worth it,” Foggy confirmed.

“Even if we have to stand in front of God and everyone, exchange vows, and kiss?”

“Still worth it,” Foggy repeated. “And dude, it’s not like kissing you’ll be any hardship.”

Matt finally lifted his head. “Really? Even though we’re just friends?”

Foggy stared at him. “Uh. Yeah? You’re my best friend, and you’re hot as hell. We’re already joined at the hip and literally our entire year knows we’re married, so it’s not like it’d make things weird. If you’re nervous, we could always pract—” he joked.

“Okay,” Matt said quickly.

“—ice.” Foggy blinked.

Matt blinked.

Feeling his face heat up, Foggy cleared his throat. “Yeah, that... that makes sense. We don’t want anyone to watch us and go, ‘Whoa, that was the most awkward kiss ever for a pair of established spouses’.”

“Yes, we wouldn’t want that,” Matt agreed. “Wait, you think it’ll be awkward?”

“First kisses usually are, aren’t they?” Foggy asked. His ears tingled now from the burn. “Best to get them out of the way.”

“Good idea. _Great_ idea. Who knows when someone will expect us to kiss, even before the wedding,” Matt replied, nodding in enthusiastic support.

“Yup,” Foggy agreed. He wiped his hands on his—well, he wiped one hand on his trousers and the other on Matt’s.

“Did you just—”

“Shut up, I’m nervous and your legs are in the way,” Foggy interrupted.

Matt laughed. “You put them there!”

“That’s not the point!”

“You’re procrastinating.”

“I am not!”

“You’re definitely procrastinating.”

“I’m not, asshole! I’m mentally preparing myself!!”

Matt pulled off his glasses and rolled his eyes. Foggy opened his mouth to make fun of him for taking off the red lenses just to make sure the gesture was seen, when—

—Well. He wasn’t going to be making fun of anything for a while. He would also deny to his dying day that he squeaked in surprise to suddenly find Matt’s lips pressed against his. And yeah, okay, he panicked and forgot what to do with his hands and was inanely fascinated by Matt’s nose and _wow_ , he smelled nice, but yeah, this was still kind of awkward—

Oh.

Foggy’s brain finished rebooting, and he finally remembered to kiss back.

The “still kind of awkward” vanished quickly as Foggy tilted his head and leaned into the kiss. He still didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he simply put one on the floor between them for balance and let the other rest on Matt’s legs. Matt made a—a _noise_ of some sort at that, somewhere between a question and a sigh and whine, and pressed in more. He coaxed Foggy’s lips apart until they were sharing breaths, tongues just barely not touching, and Foggy was _gone_ again.

At some point, the kissing slowed to a stop. Foggy wasn’t entirely sure if that had been a very, very long kiss or a series of kisses with breaks for air that his memory was simply blanking on, but he found his thoughts a little too scrambled to care. Which actually lent weight to the single long kiss theory; he was definitely feeling more than a little oxygen-deprived and lightheaded.

“Wow,” he commented, dimly aware that he sounded vaguely stoned. “I don’t think we had to worry about anyone finding that awkward.”

Snorting with laughter, Matt dropped his forehead to Foggy’s shoulders with a pleased smile. One of his hands was over Foggy’s on the floor while the other was tangled in his shirt, but Foggy was definitely wrinkling the neat lines of Matt’s trousers with how hard he was gripping the fabric, so fair was fair.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, basking comfortably in each other’s presences and unwinding, before eventually getting up and getting ready for bed. They had a busy summer ahead of them, after all.


End file.
